It is not a way of Power, But a way of Peace [ Relocation of Pydyr ]

[Ashin Varanin]

@[member="Rosa Mazhar"] @[member="Seroth Ur-Rahn"] @[member="Nohemi Allaneh"] @[member="Jaxton Ravos"] @[member="Nohemi Allaneh"] @[member="Turin Val Kur"] @[member="Roon Ganar"]

With a slow Ithorian nod, Boolon plodded along after the Fallanassi envoys. "I am most pleased to meet the Fallanassi Matrons," he said. "There are, so far as I know, only three traditions whose members choose peace above all else -- the Fallanassi, the Tyia Thuwisten, and the Priests of the Mother Jungle. I count many Tyia adherents among my friends, but have never had the chance to meet with the true masters of the White Current. Several Jedi on Coruscant claim to know some part or portion of your ways, in this day and age, but I have never encountered the genuine article apart from Aleidis Ijet, Je'gan Olra'en's heir."

 

[Seydon of Arda]

He waited a pace behind the Priest Murr, looking over to Jaxton. They exchanged a look, paired nods, before he sidled another chip into his palm and followed close after. Sounds of crumpling salt-grass and crunching pebble-earth told the rest were jostling casually into line. Behind them, their bulky and methodically lined transport-hulks idled silently in the field. Again, Seroth pursed his mouth and kept to hope they would each retain enough space to afford the whole of the Fallanassi conclave transportation. Sardonic imagination pictured a wide, seemingly emptied hold: a thousand plus bodies all hiding behind seamless casts of befuddling figments.

The scouts refused to make sound. Seroth, attempting to keep from heeling Boolon, noticed their utter quiet. Long strides pushed them on through thickets of under-foot brambles, down through a low, navigating dry-mud culvert lined with two-meter high grass blades. Their shoulders and calves brushed the foliage; save for the physical displacement, were he failing to watch, he'd swear they walked on air. Grass and thin, scraggly copses proved to be the worst of the short hike. The lad couldn't help an admiration for their sense of subtlety. Surein they were there, physically present, but just a thought and they would appear as just a gust of passing ether.

Soon, undergrowth gave way to smooth vistas of wind-worn hillside and rock. Out south and west, an inlet bay sparked bright and hot from the noonvale sun. Beyond swayed copious brine's of endless ocean water. Seroth stepped aside a moment, clambering up a small jut of wrinkly sandstone. Just to peer out, and see where the horizon mystified the line between sea and heaven. He wondered if the Matrons wouldn't take a shine to Arda. Or if the Ardans wouldn't take a shine to the Fallanassi. Certainly the youths would be enthralled by legends of 'Invisible People'; unseen watchers hiding out in the deep archipelagos, where not even the wrath of Calabed hurricanes could roust them. Perhaps... Perhaps...

Their procession stole up on a cleverly hidden segment of flag and cobblestone. It was an old walkway, eaten up by lichen, moss, strangely prickly creepers catching at their boots. Following the path saw it dip up then bow over a series of gently, perfectly spherical ridges. Just beyond laid a cliff-face; weather-beaten and storm-washed, stone the colours of cinnamon and rose-pink, veined with untapped deposits of silver and nickle. But more impressively: an immaculate arcade ground into the very rock by very rarely seen masonry techniques. Seroth spied archivolts, belonging to a vast screen facade showcasing nary a chip. Segmented domes atop hinted at unseen galleries and atriums lounging within. Seroth whistled softly, hair blow over his lips as wind gusted up from the bay.

@[member="Jaxton Ravos"] @[member="Nohemi Allaneh"] @[member="Turin Val Kur"] @[member="Roon Ganar"] @[member="Rosa Mazhar"]

 

[Jericho]

Another day, another endless hour, another intense minute, another satisifying second . He was by everyone means a warrior as he was a healer and shaper. With his travels from world to world he was able to experience nearly everything from his homeworld of Lorrd, survival skills needed in vast forest that is Kashyyyk, how to last with battle in prolong heat without water in the harsh desert planet of tattooine, how to calm ones emotion and see the light where there is only dark on the planet of malachor V and so on. But that was merely a taste of what he has been through and learned from his time away from his only considered family, the silent conclave or whatever they decided to go by now.


He was on a personal mission to grow stronger, "Left jab, right low uppercut to the body, be sure to pivot feet to use full body force, end combination with devestating blow to jaw with left hook punch." He thought of varies combinations for hand to hand, visualizing each and every foe he has come against. Especially those who either defeated him or gave him a run for his money in a duel or other fighting setting. All this while he did his standard physical work out. Five sets of 500 push ups, five sets of 1000 crunches, five sets of 1500 of leg work outs, all of which varying different type of push-up and crunches to work different parts of the body, after finishing one set of each take a three minute water break, let the body relax so it doesn't overly strain and left at a weaken and tired state. After all for this beast of a man, this was just a warm up.


On a planet not to far from the main worlds of the Silent conclave. Jericho continued with his training in peace after an hour, he finished his 'quick' warm up and moved on to the next. His use in the combat force abilities. Starting, of course, with his force speed and jumping abilities, he would have to continuously run and jump from object to object starting easy with boulders to trees then significantly making it harder on himself by timing himself to get to a certain area or reach a certain height. He had to be swift with each little movement but also elegant with every landing and step, so that he didn't fall nor strain and body part. To prepare for this, he wore bulky and clunky armor with weighted bands on his ankles and wrists. There would be times where he felt heavy or for whatever reason, dazed, he had to be perceptive and ready to move in a moments notice.


The heavy armor was for not only that reason but when being so when he wore lighter or no armor, his body would but lighter to him and it help build strength and speed even without the use of the force. Of course for a prolonged amount of time of doing this, he was going to need to be able to regulate his breathing, so that he would be so easily winded. So he wore his breathing mask, that converted the air around him to fresh and refreshing cool air to help maintain his body proper body heat and lung capacity.


Like a brisk breeze of wind, moved from object to object almost looking as though he was teleporting. As his former master, Asha Seren, had taught him in the way of silent moving and the art of Sokan, each landing step made no sounds nor made a crackle of movement. Every movable stone, every pebble was left unturned and seemingly untouched; same went for every tree branch, not so much as a wiggle and not a single leaf fallen from it's home. This took him a hours, upon days, upon weeks, upon months of constant sole training for him to achieve this feat despite his rather massive size. But now that he was able to get to such a level, the only thing left to do is push the boundaries and continuing to better himself in these combined abilities. After some time, Jericho stopped atop a mountain scape. The cool mountain air brushed lightly against his steaming warm cheek, for a mere moment he lowered his mask to take in the natural feel of the breeze that gently brushed against his person.


The quiet moment did not last too long as he received a message. He took out his communicator and gently pushed on the button, it flashed a bright blue light and after a moment of scanning, the image of Master Jaxton Ravos appeared before him. "Hey guys, this is Jaxton. I'm sending you all a message I recently received from an Ambassador on Pydyr. She wants to find sanctuary for herself and her people, and I'm inclined to help. If any of you can come and help me negotiate and transport people I'd love all of your help, in getting as many bodies as we can out as fast as we can manage. I'll meet all of you there in four days time. Jaxton out." The message stated before disappearing quicker than it had appeared.


Interesting. Not everyday one would be able to escort someone of such high ranking, at least not for jedi choose to live in the outer rim. An ambassador and her people. People. How many exactly? It had to be more than just a few people if he was calling everyone in their little order to drop everything they were doing, come out and join in on this escort mission. He never could tell the seriousness of a situation with Jaxton due to that man's seemingly relaxed and nonchalant kind of nature.


He took a moment to scan himself. Then sent Master Jaxton a message. "I will be there in two days time. I apologize for my lateness."

 

[The Hound]

Turin followed the procession of Force users in silence. He was not nearly as iconic as some of the Masters he was with such as Jaxton, a part of Havoc squad with then Grandmaster Darron Wraith, or Seroth Ur-Rahn, of whom he had heard dozens of tales depicting his dedication to his training and the Force while he was still part of the Republic and the Jedi. Turin himself on the other hand was a military deserter, murderer, and terrorist in the Republic, a bounty placed on his head by his very own father after his embarrassing break down. He didn't feel he had the right to be among these legends, but Jaxton had been the one to bring him into the fold, and so he would withhold judgement.

The place they had arrived at was impressive and he could feel many people within who could touch the Force, meaning they also could probably see the current as well. This would be an interesting day, to say the least.

@Rosa Mazhar @Seroth Ur-Rahn @Nohemi Allaneh @Jaxton Ravos @Nohemi Allaneh @Turin Val Kur @Roon Ganar @Jericho @Boolon Murr

 

[Rosa Gunn]

Rosa let out a sigh of awe as the cliff face came into sight. Something stirred within her, a memory of when she had first laid eyes in the Silent Temple and how awed by its beauty she had been. A safe haven no longer, they had been forced to leave it because of the gluttony of others. Sadness tugged at her heart strings she glanced towards their Fallansi guide, before looking back at the arcade. "It's beautiful." she said softly.

She noticed Turin lingering towards the back of the group and slid back to join him. He seemed to be a little out of his depth so for a moment she put herself in his shoes and tried to understand why. She saw the backs of the heads of hose she called friends, but in the galaxy, these peoples names were known. All of them were earmarked as traitors to the republic, formidable warriors and incredible healers. Then she understood. Rosa had always been in their shadow, she was the one that worked to keep bonds tight when others had there eyes focused elsewhere, there was nothing formidable about her. "They don't bite you know," she said finally keeping her voice low so as not to disturb the others "Except maybe Boolon." Her eyes glittered with amusement and a small smile tugged at her lips.

@Seroth Ur-Rahn @Nohemi Allaneh @Jaxton Ravos @Nohemi Allaneh @Turin Val Kur @Roon Ganar @Jericho @Boolon Murr

 

[Nohemi Allaneh]

@[member="Rosa Mazhar"] @[member="Turin Val Kur"] @Jericho @Seroth Ur-Rahn @[member="Boolon Murr"]

Hathar and the envoy led them inside the majestic city of rose-coloured stone, the smell and taste of the sea hanging in the air. At the point where the valley opens out into the plains and that of the sea, the site of the city is revealed with striking effect, as evidenced by the Sanctum envoy's reactions. To the right, just down a path was a massive carved amphitheater, and beyond that temples and tombs. Almost enclosing it on three sides are rose-colored mountain walls, divided into groups by deep fissures and lined with knobs cut from the rock in the form of towers.

It was a city of stone. A sanctuary fortress that was no longer safe for the Order of the White Current.

As Hathar led the processional, several Fallanassi matrons along with children and men of varying age quietly and curiously studied the visitors. One woman held a water jug on top of her head, while a child with umber locks shyly gave a peek from behind her skirts.

"This way," came the low cordial murmur of Hathar, as she lead them within the fortress's high arched entranced. Polished stone along with intricate mosaics and frescos would color the walls, painstaking craftsmanship of a time long ago. This was a society built upon traditional and time kept methods, not of technological superpower.

It was not long before they came upon twin double doors, intricately carved to highlight the veins of silver and nickel that permeated the rose hued stone around them. Four guards stood beside it, if you could call them that; two male and two female. They wore little more than what appeared to be normal leather clothing, more similar to everyday wear than the bulky armor one would imagine a guard would wear. Then again, the Fallanassi were not the sort to allow an enemy the opportunity for battle to begin with. Being a pacifist didn't mean defenseless.

A nod from Hathar prompted the female guards to slowly push open the stone doors, allowing them entrance. They would step into a large chamber, where a large balcony and carefully placed overhead skylights allowed the rays of the sun to precisely glint off the veins of natural ore against the walls and floor to reflect the light.

"Welcome, to Pydyr," came the slightly accented, deep voice from Niloo Van Dara Allaneh , as she turned to face the newcomers. Time would be evident upon her wizened features, fine wrinkles lightly kissing the corners of her eyes and silver streaking the intricate coifed black hair formed into a crown on her head. There would be a younger woman beside her, and one would say, a younger version of the leader of the Fallanassi. It was she who would be familiar to @[member="Jaxton Ravos"], as the woman who had asked personally for his aide via the holo-recording.

"Thank you for coming," came Nohemi's greeting, as well as her formal bow. She appeared delicate by all intents and purposes, dainty and petite. But there was a quiet and serene strength about her in the way she stood and held each of the Sanctum's gaze. A pleasant smile drew upon her lips.

"I am relieved that you received my message safely." That is when she gave a slight half turn towards her mother, introducing the envoy to her.

"May I present to you, Niloo Van Dara Allaneh" She said to the group of the leader of the Pydyr Order of the White Current. If they didn't look so much alike, one would wonder at the cordial and formal manner Nohemi spoke about her mother.

 

[The Hound]

Turin nodded to the woman. He knew they didn't bite, he knew they were good people. Maybe he was being too harsh on himself, but he could think of that later. For now, he would concentrate on getting these people to safety. "Thank you." he muttered, his cold, blue eyes showing the warmth of gratitude. Continuing to follow the group he was taken aback by the beauty of the place they had entered. It tugged at his heart to know that so many people now had to pick up their things and leave it all behind.

In fear.
@[member="Nohemi Allaneh"] @[member="Rosa Mazhar"] @Jericho @Seroth Ur-Rahn @[member="Boolon Murr"]

 

[Seydon of Arda]

Delicate fragrances hung with them in the march through the Fallanassi fastness. Scents like roasted almond, dabbling with trading drafts of mango, and blood orange. It elicited a meditative instinct, as it drew on the olfactory senses and eased certain margins of mental tension. Seroth paused to just inhale. An even score of eyes watched from behind smooth-bore columns that, ingeniously, had been carved from prior load-bearing cavern walls. Old stone-smiths and nameless masons wore away rough, natural contours to provide smoothed halls, corridors, flooring and wall-surfaces that were astonishingly flat, level.

Their shared gait walked them past a dozen shaded frescoes; there was only time for cursory glances. Most were painted upon gently flecking plaster, crackling now from age. A rare handful were dyed straight to the stone itself. Seroth stopped his pace a second to gather a look. Three pieces were depicting faceless crowds hurrying after a distant sunrise... Or sun-fall. Like a telling of exodus, in cycle. Yet, they lacked forlorn hues or melancholy breaches of grey-blue saturation. Deft brush-laps secured tones indicative of fire, autumn, with clay and bronze overlaid for effect. Seroth peered close to a small, chiseled plaque.

"'...Not all who wander are lost,'" He read to himself.

Soon, the escort brought up the entourage to a secluded antechamber. It connected to a larger atrium guarded by stone-wrought double-doors, with a double-contingent of 'minders' keeping watch. Plates of copper had been drill-stamped in. Time had aged the metals well, for each displayed a bright, lime-aqua verdigris indicative of oxide growth. They opened at a command, ushering them in. Beyond laid a delicately arranged pattern of overhead lamps that enhanced sunlight beaming through an open balcony. A figure rested against its bronze bannister, and turned about. There came a second, more fuller silhouette, standing attentively by.

Seroth gazed a moment. The familiar resemblance was uncanny. He looked from the matriarchal features of Niloo Van Dara Allaneh, to her daughter and Second, Nohemi Allaneh. It struck him: Fallanassi did not oft commit to sheltering outsiders in their midst. Let aside a matron audience. When last did they entertain guests? Suddenly the age apparent in the hollowed, bossed ribs of the vaulted atrium weighed down like a blanket of Phrik-chain. Seroth nodded into a tapering bow to the paired enclave leaders.

"Ma'am," He said, blinking sunlight out of his gaze. "We're thankful for your confidences and counsel. And we'll not pretend this isn't trying on yourself, your kin. The Levantines are fit for whatever tasks you require."

@[member="Nohemi Allaneh"] @[member="Jaxton Ravos"] @[member="Boolon Murr"] @[member="Rosa Mazhar"] @[member="Turin Val Kur"]

 

[Jorus Merrill]

Jorus had provided that Tempus Ardet; these were the last days of his administration, but Silk could still step up. A single Tempus Ardet, well, maybe it could hold a hundred fifty thousand people when set up right.

Jorus himself was elsewhere. The Kyrikal system, to be precise, setting up ship. The difficulty, of course, was that he had no idea which moon the Fallanassi would choose. The ninth moon was mellow, oceanic, jungular, rivate, quiet. The seventeenth was arid, austere, a world of oceans and deserts, suitable for those who loved remoteness. Suitable plots of land had been selected on each moon. A basic modular Mandalorian-built station orbited near the seventeenth. The Tempus Ardet would take the Fallanassi there for as long as it would take to pick a location and start setting up prefab accommodations. An old Sith Empire orbital-drop base stood ready also, floating by the station for tow.

 

[Nohemi Allaneh]

[member="Boolon Murr"] [member="Jericho"] [member="Seroth Ur-Rahn"]


“We are grateful for heeding the call,” came Niloo’s cultured reply, inclining her head in gratitude. However, there was a seriousness in her gaze that questioned their realization on just what this meant.

“My daughter gives praise to your works,” she began, her head held high not out of pride, but merely a stance in confidence. “However, I am unsure if this assembly is aware of the vastness of such a call for aid.”

Nohemi’s made a motion as if to speak, but her mother lightly lifted her hand to quell her. Her somber gaze turned to Seroth.

“It is not only the Order of the White Current under my charge,” she began to explain, “But that of the surviving Pydorians as well. We have survived here for centuries, young Master, hidden away in sanctuary from the Gulag Virus, the four hundred year darkness, and the Sith Empire.”

“I am responsible for the safety and security of each and every man, woman, and child under within these stone walls. I am placing great trust in confidence and counsel to those my daughter has recommended. However, it is a great burden I am asking of outsiders to carry it with me. Are you certain you are willing to accept this task?”

 

[Seydon of Arda]

It was not age that gave her brow cause to gently creased with year-lines, Seroth realized. It was weight; careworn responsibility inherited by dint of station. Time, the location of burgeoning territories, had reduced venerable Niloo Van Dara Allaneh's position from that of executor to supplicator. His eyes flicked north: Mandalorian war machines and dark hordes mustering beyond the Tingel Arm. Shoulders turned, as if to regard the small entourage by his flanks, he imagined a garnering mosiac of grinning politicos turning treaties over in vast, fat, sweating palms. The Republic in the galactic south. Just the stone's throw away.

Niloo's wizened brown eyes, speckled with milking white, bore up at them, gravely. She would not be satisfied with promises of ship-berths, foodstuffs, stainless durasteel lavatories. The venture, in its totality, required transplant of hundreds, if not thousands, of decades detailing a rarer way of life. To a distant, pale glimmer of starlight that none of them had visited. Not yet. Seroth returned her look.

"Yes," He said. "To put it plainly? Your people are valued for their White Current arts. I can name three powers in the north, south, and west that would kill and will kill to make sure people who can walk invisibly remain in their war-chest. They'll come to you and say you've no choice. Their protection... at their price. ...But that's not Pydyr and her people, is it?"

Seroth looked up at the smoothed vault ceiling. "And that's what we've come for. To help them get out before they have to host folks in jack-boots, lightsabers, and guns. They're owed peace, quiet, fading frescoes, and children laughing down by the shore on the sea. We'll bleed, so each and every man, woman, and child won't have to. ...Is that enough for you?"

 

[Nohemi Allaneh]

There was a moment of pause. Of deep reflection. The way of the Fallanassi taught that one must learn to accept the nature of the galaxy as it was. This was their reality. In the dark brown eyes of the Rogue Master, Niloo saw what she needed to make her decision.

The Fallanassi elder gave a slight incline of her head in acceptance, as her cultured voice came rolling out, "It is enough," she admitted, raising her head as her right hand made a slight motion forward for her daughter to take the lead.

"More than enough." she took a deep breath, her thin shoulders setting as if finally coming to peace with her decision.

"Then we begin the great exodus of my people." Niloo decreed, turning towards Nohemi, "My daughter shall assist you with any matter that you need."

"Of course," said Nohemi in turn, bowing her head slightly before turning her attention to [member="Seroth Ur-Rahn"]. There was the subtle shift of relief over the younger Fallanassi's delicate features. This had clearly been a great concern of hers.

"In what ever capacity, I am a vessel to provide it."

 

[Seydon of Arda]

Sunlight washed over the brass edging and etched filigree on the outside balconey railing, briefly outlining all present in second-skin halos of gold incandescence. Colour lit up, warming the stone-washed tiling, the notched columns and piers shading from milk to pearlescent hue. Then, a low wind off the distant salt brine ran up the rocky outcrops, up into the chamber to assail their nostrils. It was bright, bitter, saline, and wholly intense. The scent of tears. Seroth steadied and turned to [member="Nohemi Allaneh"].

"...You will have to give out the announcement," He said. Tones modulated, deflecting from anything overtly commanding. "I don't believe any of us would possess the right voice for it. Save for perhaps Master Murr. Tell them everything, as you can. But... This isn't a wild, panicked march. This is at their pace, at their control. It won't be a march to death. We aren't asking them to leave behind every and all. The Levantines can accomodate. It's our work to. With luck..."

Seroth glanced at the chronopiece blinking over his wrist. "...Captain Merrill's already finished detailing a settlement site. Give thanks, [member="Turin Val Kur"] was gracious enough to secure a Tempus Ardet vessel. That's enough proper quarter-space to hold a hundred fifty thousand souls. Alongside a psuedo Herd-ship in orbit, with whatever other freighters, shuttles, and the like we've borrowed or scavenged for you."

 

[The Hound]

The young man nodded. "I'm sure I could convince the man who took me here to bring you all back. He faces a similar plight and fears the Republic and Mandalorian border will soon erupt into chaos." His blue eyes fell on the two regal women before them now. Both seemed...Powerful in their own right. Not like him in terms of brute force and staggering control of the Force, but the finer, more delicate arts. He had read about the Fallanassi in his continued independent study of the White Current. A peaceful people, though very powerful.
[member="Seroth Ur-Rahn"] [member="Nohemi Allaneh"]

 

[Nohemi Allaneh]

[member="Seroth Ur-Rahn"]

Nohemi gave an inclination of her dark head in compliance.

"Then it shall be done." she told him with conviction, her small shoulders setting straight in her purpose as she lifted her head. It was as if the younger woman carried the burdens of her people, for in she held the guidance of this future generation within the Order of the White Current and those they were responsible for.

Those born in privileges were born with certain obligations. This was one of them.

"Thank you, Master Ur. Rahn." came her soft grateful reply as light went dancing about her form from the overhead skylights.

"We are in your debt." joined the cultured voice of Niloo, her hands coming to rest in front of her waist in a delicate pose. With that, the exodus of the Order along with the surviving Pydyrians was announced and then went underway. Thousands of people, under the threat of three mighty powers, began the long arduous process of packing and uplifting their belongings from the only home they ever known. [background=#232323]-- a ruin that would not tie to them at all.[/background]

It would be as if the Order of the White Current had never been there at all. Not a single trace of their culture, their history, their ways was left.

 

[Seydon of Arda]

The concerted effort lasted for thirty six days, six hundred forty eight hours man-hours, filling the Tempus Ardet to every spare cranny not heretofore stuffed with materiel, and requisitioning a spare second-hand hauler, before a final inspection occurred on a warm morning promising a hot wind off the seas west. Labour split between the Pydyrian overseers and Levantine volunteers, tasked to manage flight logistics and listening to explanations of why particular keepsakes needed to come with the families. More oft than not, into evenings soaked with rain and sweat, a small hovel built on the rocky outskirts from heat-flashed clay and thatched straw kept up an inner lantern glow. Seroth sat awake, hololith on lap, stylus in hand, pouring over reports of moved bodies, their luggage. Calculation had to be made for rations, their associated amenities. Foodstuffs, re-filtered water, systems to see to waste disposal. Always the same question: 'What was missing?'

By the thirty eigthy day, the Tempus Ardet and her sister mass-freighters were away. Subspace transit from Pydry to Free Space was a roughly hewn frame of some seven days, perhaps nine. There were navigational requirements: drops into Realspace, readjusting navi-comp vectors, setting back into hyperspace translation. Sanctum space was a better kept secret by dint of difficult travel, general isolation, and sheer spans of measured distance. Seroth, Nohemi, and a handful of other keepers on strict watch waited for preset signals to hail from lightspeed. They combed empty Pydyr, waiting for the codeword 'Beachhead'; landing Kyrikal 5.

Seroth was left to his lonesome briefly on the fiftieth eve. He'd retreated to the standing mount-home the Fallannassi and their people spent the better of some four generations hewing out from veined rock, in the summery chamber where sunlight painted the smoothed walls umber, salacian-pink, and caught hanging paper-craft an incandescent orange-red. The crumbling frescoes paid the singular presence no heed; time was nodding their flaking eyes closed. The lad went out upon the long viridian balcony and connected gantries. Someone secured a promise from him before they sauntered aboard a shuttle bound for the Tempus in ardet: give Pydyr song so she would not forget her children.

He raised a small, silver harmonica to his lips, and began playing.

~Fin~​